Last Song
by Tiny Q
Summary: Drunken karaoke singing, talking drinks, and a pile of train wrecks big enough to be declared a new country. It’s no wonder that Ginny has a few issues to sort out... D/G


Title: Last Song

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one_legged_lesbian_seagull@hotmail.com

A/N: Well, it's not a song fic really.  And it's not based on that oh-so-wonderful song by Theory of a Dead Man.  Damn I love that song.  No, it is just inspired by a song called 'Last Song' by Edward Bear that I heard while going through my dad's oldie CDs.  It's rather dull, but the lyrics caught my ear.  Then I woke up in the middle of the night and just had this urge to write this, so here it is.  

Disclaimer:  Nothing.  I own nothing!

**Last Song******

~*~

            Ginny Weasley's life sucked.  And not just in a sort of ho-hum, my life really is rather shitty.  It was the full blown, whirlpool kind of sucking that never ever seemed to give up.  It seemed to her that it was just getting worse too.  She thought she had hit rock bottom and that things could get no worse, but it seemed the world was taking some twisted and sadistic pleasure in proving to her just how much farther it could take her.  It was like she was a participant in train wreck after train wreck and they were all piling up high enough that she would soon be able to declare her own country.  After all, there is the country the size of the largest mall in the world, so why not the largest pile of train rubble as well?

            She glared darkly around the gloomy sort of pub she had sat herself in, daring anyone to add something to her pile of woes.  She then turned her glare down to her drink, silently accusing it for not making these aforementioned woes go away quietly rather than having them drag their dirty nails down her throat as they went.  Yes, it was definitely the drink's fault.  You can't trust fluids you know.  They're all wet.

            Now, you are probably thinking that Ginny is quite screwed up, getting drunk in a bar to make her problems go away.  But in the end, people drink excessively for a reason.  And Ginny does have a reason.  Several actually.  And a few might seem petty to you, but in the end, everyone's feelings are important to themselves and wallowing in self pity is something that you yourself have most likely done at one point or another in your life.  Sometimes it just happens harder to some people than it does to others. Or more frequently.  

            Ginny had lost her job today.  Her job of ten years and she had lost it.  Just like that.  Downsizing.  That was what they had called it.  But she had been the only one, with the exception of the shifty man who worked across from her, that she never wanted to think about, even when drunk, who had been taken off the payroll.  So, now she was unemployed and without income.  But that can easily be fixed.  A new job is not too hard to find in the long run, or at least that is the way it is supposed to be: booming industries need workers and such.

            But there was an urgency upon her now.  Her roommate, Samantha Booi, had mysteriously vanished the day before, leaving the flat desolately empty.  Her only signature was a note that she was eloping with some American who was taking her back with him and that she was oh-so-sorry that she couldn't tell Ginny in person, but that she would miss her dearly and hopes that Ginny would find someone of her own someday.  Ginny knew it was bullshit.  Sam just wanted an excuse to take Ginny's CDs.  And she had taken many of them.  Now on top of the fact that she was utterly depressed, she could no longer listen to the soothing sounds of the Rolling Stones or Our Lady Peace.  Life really sucked.

            But as I mentioned before, Ginny's life seemed to be a series of train wrecks.  One after the other.  Well, I have mentioned three, all having to do with one another in a slightly ironic way if you looked at it hard enough.  But let's add a few more on, shall we?  Her mother kept pressing her to settle down.  All her brothers were married and having grandchildren, too many in Ginny's eyes, yet she was the only Weasley child who had yet to find someone in which she could love.  Properly at least.  To add to this, her mother kept encouraging Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived And Saved The World Once Again, to ask her out.  Ginny thought this was rather disgusting as he was more of a brother to her now more than he had ever been before.

            No, the man Ginny wanted was long gone, and she really had to face that he was gone.  That he was not coming back.  Nope, and the drink before her was assuring her of this, whispering to her in her drunken haze that it really was time to grow up and get a life.  To pull herself together and stop thinking that the world only revolved around her and that she had to be responsible.  That she had to have grandchildren for her mum and make her happy.  That she had to grow old and love life in the process.  She had to get married.  And she had to get a job.  But not in that exact order, mind.  But then, how could she keep track of such a simple thing as time?  

            Glaring at her drink once more, she could almost swear that it was laughing at her.  So to spite it, she finished it.  Ha.  Then she added the now empty glass to the row of others.  They were her audience in a way.  Perhaps the trains would get them as well.  Imagining this made her giggle slightly, then she stood up, swaggering slightly as she made her way to the stage.  It hadn't really occurred to her to do anything until she was there.  It was quite a queer feeling, to not be in control of her actions, but Ginny didn't feel like thinking about that at the moment.  Suddenly all she wanted to do was sing.  

            The man who had been belting out drunken songs on the karaoke machine for the past hour had finally managed to pass out on the ground.  Ginny stepped over him, grabbing his microphone and staring at it a little funny, trying to remember what the function of it was exactly.  Then she remembered, and held it up to her mouth, breathing into it slightly.  The pub was rather empty as far as pubs go, but there was enough of a crowd to make her feel slightly nervous.  Perhaps another drink should have gotten it's way into her system before she decided on this little excursion to the stage.  But no use now, she was here and she was going to sing, whether she really wanted to or not.

            "Did you know I go to sleep and leave the lights on, hoping you'd come by and know that I was home and still awake?"  Somehow she had managed to open her mouth and sing, slightly off beat with the song, but with a strong voice none the less.  When she would sober up, she still would not know how the Muggle device had known to play this song, or how even, she had managed to know the words without being able to read the lyrics bouncing across the screen at her feet.  Yet she did, and on she sang, her words slurring every now and then:  "But two years go by and still my light's on.  This is hard for me to say: but it is all that I can take."

            It was odd how when she was drunk the words suddenly had more meaning to her than they ever had before.  Perhaps it was like understanding the complications of Tool after smoking a few joints and clarity hits.  But the world is funny that way.  You can hear a song a hundred times over your lifetime, but as you grow and your experiences change, the song means more or less to you than it had before.  In her case it meant more.  More in the fact that she had been waiting, she had been waiting so long, hoping against hopes that he would come back.  That if she stayed up just late enough on those lonely nights that there would be a knock at the door and he would be there to sweep her into his arms and never ever let go.  But she had never had such luck.  The only knock she ever received was from pesky door to door sales people, how she would ignore, or people holding clipboards, obviously wanting money.  It was never him.

            And now she realized, with more clarity than ever before, that she really did have to grow up.  That she had to get out of her fantasies and live a real and true life.  To become what everyone expected her to be, to become just like her brothers and settle down with someone nice and dull and polite.  Not stay single forever, waiting for the antithesis of all that she had been raised with to return.  It was time to grow up.

            "It's the last song I'll ever write for you.  It's the last time that I'll tell you just how much I really care.  This is the last song I'll ever sing for you," her voice went on, cracking slightly as the effects of the alcohol she had consumed began to sink yet further into her system.  "You'll come looking for the light and it won't be there.  But I love you, oh yes I do.  Yes I do."  
            Perhaps she would still be there when he did knock though, just to prove that she was better off, that she didn't need him.  Ginny was spiteful when she was drunk.  Yet she was bitter when she was sober, her train wreck life being a catalyst for more and more of this poison everyday.  But perhaps she could make it all go away if she could just get over him.  If she could just get herself another job.  Another room mate.  Get Harry and her mother off her case.  Get herself a life.

            "All the times that I spent waiting, wondering where you are.  Always knew the time would come when I would start to wonder why," she went on, the music playing in the background becoming more and more out of time with her voice.  She was slowing down, her voice slurring worse than ever and her vision was getting ever more fuzzy.  Something trickled down her face and she was beginning to get an inkling as to why her vision was becoming impaired.  Yet on she sang:  "Now the time is here.  I don't know where you are, so I'll write you one more song.  But it's the last time that I'll ever try."

            She was almost done, she was almost finished.  And then she would be over him and life would be better.  But it's funny the way things work though, isn't it?  I mean, Ginny had not thought about him in over a year, and yet here he is, being the scapegoat for all her problems.  Perhaps it was that subconscious pain that had kept her from finding that nice guy to settle down with.  Perhaps it had been this pain that had made her lose her job or made her bitter.  Or perhaps it wasn't.  One can never really tell, only speculate until it sounds intelligent enough to make into something rather solid and realistic.

            She missed the last chorus entirely, skipping straight to the end.  It was her favorite part really, because it was only one phrase.  Nine little words that meant the beginning of something new.  Something better.  So on she chanted:  "It's the last song I'll ever write for you, It's the last song I'll ever write for you, It's the last song I'll ever write for you, It's the last song I'll ever write for you..."

            The music had long since end and she finally decided it would be prudent of her to stop singing.  Her audience, small though it was, erupted into drunken clapping.  Remember: everyone drinks for a reason, and these sorry saps all had ones of their own, not that it is any of our business however.  

            Swaying more violently than ever, Ginny somehow managed to find her seat, only to realize that there was someone in it.  She frowned as only a Weasley can and cleared her throat.  The rather tall and lanky man turned to face her with a mild expression on his face.  It only made her frown further.

            "Quite a show you put on," the man said in a rather slow tone that screamed arrogance and yet showed her hints of repression and distant horrors.  She had always heard it.

            "You're not supposed to be here," she said slowly, cocking her head slowly, yet not taking her eyes off him.  "I just said my goodbyes."

            "That was for me, was it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in what could only be amusement.  "Then I suppose I will just leave then.  No point in my staying if I am not wanted."  He stood up, seeming very tall in comparison to her slouched figure.  She remembered being taller than that, coming up higher so she could reach eye level if she wore her tallest heels.  Yet now she felt shorter than she ever had, and it bothered her.  The whole thing bothered her.  And she didn't want it to.

            "No," she said sharply and clearly, surprising herself slightly.  But that is always funny too, the way a voice can spike just when it is needed too, or when it is least expected.  "No Draco," she said softer than before, her words slurring slightly.  "You can't leave me.  Not again."

            I am sure that if a sober Ginny had been standing on the sidelines, watching this scenario unfold she surely would have struck her head with something blunt.  The drunken Ginny had just thrown all her plans and resolutions out the window by the simple appearance of him.  The man she loved.  Yet, what was she to expect really.  She probably wouldn't have even remembered what she had been thinking when she woke up the next morning anyway.  Perhaps she would have been slightly more pressed to get a job, but that would not have been unexpected seeing as the rent was due in a week an a half.

            "I don't intend to," the blond said softly, a gentleness in his voice that she knew was for her and for her alone.  No one ever saw it in him, but she did.  She always did.  And she didn't care what the world had to say about it, what evil thoughts they had of him, she knew he was just as misguided and as hurt and lonely as she was.  "If you still want me that is.  That song was a rather good indication that you're done."

            "I do," she said, the room beginning to swirl around her.  Excitement and alcohol should not be mixed along side Karaoke for it is not a good combination for Weasley females.  "What does the song know anyway," she murmured.  "Besides, the glasses told me to do it."

            And with that she found herself in the arms of the man with the silver-blond hair that she loved so much, a feeling of security radiating through her.  In the morning it would all be better she realized.  In the morning she would grow up, and he would be there at her side to prove to the world that life was bearable after all.  He had stopped the train wrecks.

~*~  
A/N:  Well that's the end folks.  No more!  Not even if you ask.  Though I don't see why you would.  But please, do tell me what you think!


End file.
